The Key to the Future, page 15
“Alright, alright,” cried out Martha. She picked up the receiver. “Hello.” She stared forward intently. “No, this is his mother.” The cat slowly returned to its dinner plate. “What’s your name again?” She shook her head. “I don’t know anyone named Ingrid.” She looked at her son. “John, do you know anyone named Ingrid?”
“No,” replied the doctor. A few seconds went by. “What a minute. Don’t hang up! What’s her last name?”
“Hoffman,” came the reply from his mother, her left hand over the mouthpiece. “She sounds upset and keeps talking about a cousin.”
The physician bolted across the room and grabbed the phone. “Hello, this is Dr. Sullivan.” He listened intently with a gaze out the window. “Yes, sure… right now? No problem. I should be able to make it.” He checked his watch and quickly looked at his mother. “Mom, can you watch Aidan for another hour or so?”
“The Pugs are on in twenty minutes.” She looked at her grandson. “Are you a Brookside Pugs fan?”
“Yes,” replied the boy.
“Then I can watch him,” answered Martha with a grin.
“Very good, Mrs. Hoffman. I’ll be over in about twenty minutes or so. Thank you. Sure, it’s no problem.” He hung up the phone.
“Who’s Ingrid?” asked Mrs. Sullivan. “Miss Gamble’s competition?”
“Hmm. That’s peculiar,” said John with a cocked eyebrow.
“What’s peculiar?” asked his mother. “Who’s Mrs. Hoffman?”
“Ingrid Hoffman is the last surviving offspring of Dr. Rickard von Steiger,” replied Sullivan. He waited for his mother to recognize the name, but she didn’t flinch. “She’s also a first cousin to Dr. Zachary Schmidt.”
Her mother immediately recognized the Schmidt name and without moving her body, directed a wary gaze upon her son. “I told you he wouldn’t let that building be destroyed.” Her voice cracked as if a shiver ran through her vocal cords. She pulled the afghan a bit higher up onto her chest. “The spirit of Dr. Schmidt is alive and well, John… and it resides inside that building. Trust me when I say the old Franklin Wing is haunted.”
“There are no such things as ghosts,” replied the medical doctor as he wrapped up his half-eaten dinner. “Trust me when I say that, Mom. I’m a man of science.”
“But I knew Zachary Schmidt,” came the quick retort with a pointed finger. “He promised to come back!”
“So, what are you saying, Mom? He all of a sudden reappears… forty years after vanishing from sight? Is that what you’re telling me? The ghost of Zachary Schmidt came back to help save that run down building. Where’s he been for the past four decades?”
His mother didn’t respond as a look of scorn ran across her face. She tightened her lips.
“What kind of a promise are you talking about? He made a promise?”
She refused to continue the conversation and glared forward in defiance.
“I’ll be back in about an hour, Aidan,” said John. He stooped down to kiss his nephew on the head. “Take care of Granny. She’s afraid of ghosts.”
“So am I,” said the child. He got up and ran over to his grandmother’s side.
The physician stepped over the recumbent cat and walked out. Twenty minutes later, he was again led into the parlor of Ingrid Hoffman’s home. Sullivan took a seat on the sofa, opposite his host.
“Thank you for coming over on such short notice,” said Mrs. Hoffman. “I have somewhat of a favor to ask of you.”
“A favor? What kind of a favor?”
“Yes, well… this is all going to sound a bit absurd to you, Dr. Sullivan,” continued Hoffman. For the first time in their short relationship, she broke eye contact with Sullivan. “I never thought I would ever be discussing such a matter with anyone outside of the family,” stammered Hoffman. “I don’t know where to start.”
“Why did you mention a cousin over the phone?”
“I… it’s very difficult for me to say.”
“Are you aware that some surveillance video from the Philadelphia General Hospital recorded someone in the Franklin Wing with facial features resembling that of the late Dr. Schmidt?” He paused but there was no response. “Do you have a relative in town, say in his late forties or earlier fifties?”
“Dr. Sullivan, I’m about to tell you something that will permanently alter the course of your life, in quite a dramatic fashion.” She reestablished eye contact.
“In a good way or bad way?”
“Both.”
“I see.”
“But, before I proceed, you must be willing to accept such an undeniable consequence.” She paused. “Your personal life and medical career… will never be the same.”
“So, are you asking my permission to continue?”
“Absolutely. If we continue this conversation, you’ll never be the same person again.”
“And how did I get involved in this discussion?”
“Your zealous pursuit of the past in regard to the Franklin Wing and Dr. Schmidt. That’s what brought us together on such short notice.”
Sullivan’s heart began to rapidly pound in anticipation. He thought he heard a faint cough from the rear of the first-floor dwelling, but the synchronized cry of every cuckoo clock in the house muffled the sound. Deep in his heart, he needed to hear the news. He waited for the clocks to go silent.
“Go ahead. I consent.”
“Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.”
“Do you believe in the existence of time travel?” asked Mrs. Hoffman.
“Ah, well… I can’t say I’ve given it much thought.” He furrowed his eyebrows in an attempt to generate a meaningful response. “I mean, outside of a few novels and movies, my knowledge of the topic…”
“Time does not flow at a constant rate,” continued Hoffman. “Time flows at different rates in different places.”
“I did sign up for a quantum physics class in college, but it was filled,” recalled Sullivan. “I ended up taking a cooking class, which in hindsight, probably served me better.”
“Time is relative.” She stared at her silent host. “Hence, Einstein’s Theory of Relativity. Are you familiar with that concept, Dr. Sullivan?”
“Somewhat.”
“Are you aware that my father was a close personal friend of Mr. Einstein? They were colleagues in Germany and worked in the same laboratory.”
“Yes. Yes, I am aware of that.”
“The General Theory of Relativity states that time is linked, or related, to both matter and space.”
“Yes.”
“Therefore, the dimensions of time, space, and matter constitute what we call… a continuum.”
Sullivan held up his hands. “Mrs. Hoffman, with all due respect, where are we headed with this conversation? I mean, what does my involvement with the Franklin Wing have to do with Albert Einstein’s General Theory of Relativity?”
“Dr. Sullivan, my cousin disappeared into thin air over forty years ago. Did you ever wonder how a man could just vanish from sight… without leaving a trace?”
“I’ve given it great thought. It’s inexplicable.”
“There’s only one explanation,” came the retort. “That is, if you believe in the existence of time travel.”
“Uh-oh,” quipped Sullivan. He stared coldly at his host. “You’re not suggesting…”
“That’s right, Dr. Sullivan. Once you entertain the possibility, it all starts to make perfect sense. Think about it. How else can someone just disappear from the planet earth?”
Sullivan looked down to consider the plausibility of such an occurrence, which although bizarre, could certainly explain everything. He looked back up. “Mrs. Hoffman, you’re not trying to tell me that Dr. Zachary Schmidt was a…”
“Time traveler,” cut in Hoffman. She nodded her head slowly up and down. “Yes… that’s exactly what I am telling you. Dr. Zachary Schmidt was a time traveler.” She paused for several seconds, allowing the magnitude of her statement to set in. “I know it sounds crazy but trust me when I say it’s true.” She smiled as if spreading out the winning hand in a poker game. “My cousin, the eccentric Zachary Schmidt, escaped prosecution on July 4th, 1976, by stepping into a time portal. In doing so, he successfully eluding his captors and their draconian plan to proceed with a state mandated lobotomy the following day.”
Sullivan remained speechless. It made sense but couldn’t be true. In his mind, time travel was science fiction, the cliché plot for works of science fiction.
“Both my father and cousin were keenly aware of the portal’s existence. Each man, throughout their career, benefitted from their ability to travel into the future. A remarkable perk, if you think about it… the ability to take a peek around the corner of life. Yet over time, the tunnel cut both ways. You see, Dr. Sullivan…”
Sullivan stood up and put both hands on his head. “Stop! You’re starting to freak me out a bit.” He took two steps to the right and turned back to face the host. “You’re asking me, a man a science, to accept the notion that man can travel backward in time?”
“Forward. Only forward travel is possible.”
“Backward or forward… it doesn’t matter! It can’t be true. It’s never been done.” He scanned the room. “Are there cameras in here? Am I being punked?”
“I’m unfamiliar with that term.”
“Oh, this is just too bizarre,” stated Sullivan. “A bit too surreal for me.” He looked back at Hoffman. “Mrs. Hoffman, I appreciate your confidence in providing me with this information, but I’m going to need time to digest your proposal. What you’re asking me to believe is a bit far-fetched, and to be quite honest…”
The sound of a man coughing came from the rear of the home.
“Does someone live with you?” asked Sullivan with a quizzical glance toward the foyer.
“No.”
“Well then… who may I ask, is in your home now?”
A smile slowly appeared on her face. “A visitor from the future.”
“No. Don’t even suggest it,” warned Sullivan. Sweat began to run down the middle of his spine. For some reason he mumbled, “There are no such things as ghosts.”
“He’s no ghost,” came the calm response. “The man on the hospital surveillance video was indeed my cousin. I’m sure the hospital sentry notified you of their recent reunion. Zachary always admired Mr. Washington and it brought him great joy to rekindle their friendship.”
“The man on the video was no older than sixty,” shot back Sullivan. “Your cousin should be in his late eighties. How can you explain that?”
“The twin paradox,” came the answer.
“Excuse me?”
“Einstein made it clear that there is no such thing as ‘time’ in the singular. Time passes differently for different observers, depending on their motion. The twin paradox is an extension of his theory of special relativity.”
“But what does it have to do with twins?”
“Let’s say you have two identical twins,” stated Hoffman. “One makes a journey in a high-speed rocket into outer space, and the other stays on earth.”
“Alright.”
“When the traveling twin returns home, will they be the same age?”
“I suppose,” guessed Sullivan. “Or maybe not. I don’t know.”
“The twin who remained on earth will have aged much more,” came the answer.
“How so?”
“There is no symmetry between the spacetime path of each twin,” answered Ingrid with a smile. “The traveling twin’s trajectory involved two different inertial frames, one for the outbound route and the other for the inbound return. Acceleration and gravity also play a significant role.”
“You seem to have tremendous knowledge on this topic,” said Sullivan. “How so?”
“My father was a brilliant physicist,” came the proud reply. “He taught his nephew and two daughters well, even at our young age.”
“So why me?” asked Sullivan. “Why are you suddenly divulging the existence of this so-called time tunnel to Dr. John Sullivan? What makes me so special?”
“Because you brought him back, doctor. Zachary Schmidt was trapped in the future for the past forty years, until you stepped into the picture.”
Sullivan lifted an eyebrow. “I brought him back?”
“Yes.”
“And how exactly did I do this, without my knowledge?”
“The key. You found the key.”
“That skeleton key? The one that Reggie Washington had buried in a can of oddities from the Franklin?”
“Absolutely. That key triggers the opening of the time tunnel. The slot in the granite wall is set exactly to the portal’s opening. Once the key is set into the slot, the worm hole opens and the laws of physics take control.” She smiled warmly. “I know this is crazy, doctor. But, it’s all true.”
“Dr. Schmidt wore that key around his neck.”
“Yes. And unfortunately, on the night of July 4th, 1976… immediately after activating the tunnel, the young police officer crashed into Dr. Schmidt. His actions broke the key at its bow, sending the bulk of the skeleton key onto the floor of the Franklin.”
“And the remaining stump of the key stayed on the necklace?”
“Exactly. It was perfect timing, Dr. Sullivan. The latchkey stayed behind… but the two men transported forward.”
“Interesting.”
Unfortunately, the nub of key remaining on Dr. Schmidt’s necklace wasn’t enough to reactivate the time tunnel on the other side of the tunnel. So sadly, Dr. Schmidt and the police officer had no ticket to return home. Without that old key…”
“They were trapped in the future?”
“Yes.”
“Things are starting to make too much sense,” said Sullivan in a rapid tone. “You’re really starting to scare me now.”
“Fortunately, Mr. Washington found the key. But unfortunately, he stored it away for the next four decades.” She smiled. “Until you came into the picture. Dr. Sullivan, let me make this clear–it was you who delivered the key back to Dr. Schmidt.”
Sullivan stood speechless.
“You delivered him back to our time.”
“But…”
“Do you remember placing that key into the slot?”
“Yes,” stammered Sullivan. “There was a tremendous flash of light and crack of thunder.”
“Do you remember the sound of silence and acceleration?”
“Yes. But I don’t remember much more. Except for waking up the next day in a hospital.”
“You traveled forward in time, doctor.”
Sullivan didn’t reply.
“You sustained a concussion in the transport. Take a guess who put those stitches into your head?”
Sullivan reached up and ran a hand across his healing head wound. He recalled the old-fashioned ‘baseball’ stitch described to close the gash.
Mrs. Hoffman stood up. “Dr. Sullivan, would you like to meet my cousin… Dr. Zachary Schmidt? He wants to thank you.”
“He has the key?” stuttered Sullivan as he steadied himself on a wing chair. The room began to spin.
“Yes. It’s back around his neck… safe and secure.” She took hold of Sullivan’s arm and led him into the foyer. They took a right at the stairwell and walked past the kitchen.
“But the favor?” asked Sullivan as he plodded forward. “What’s the favor?”
“He needs your help,” came the reply. “You need to go back into the future… to save his life.”
Chapter Sixteen
THE VOLUNTEER
“OH… MY… GOD!” stammered Sullivan as he turned the corner into a rear bedroom. “I do not believe my eyes!” He brought both hands forward to cover his nose and mouth. “It’s impossible.”
Dr. Schmidt lay supine on a sofa with a blanket covering his slight body. He appeared frail, except for radiant energy emanating from a set of blazing blue eyes. His mustache was unchanged from photographs of old, and his grin, unmistakable. The smell of pipe tobacco permeated the airspace and to his right, a fire crackled inside a stone hearth.
“Ah, Dr. John Sullivan,” replied Schmidt. “An honor and a privilege to make your formal acquaintance.” He held out his right hand. “Please excuse me for not getting up. I’m a tad fatigued at the moment.”
Sullivan reached out to shake the physician’s hand, anticipating it to be ice cold, but it was warm and firm. Schmidt flashed a set of pearly white teeth beneath his trademark mustache and held the grip for several seconds.
“Dr. Zachary Schmidt here… a fellow physician on staff at the Philadelphia General. Sorry I’ve missed the last one hundred or so medical staff meetings… I’ve been away.”
“Am I dreaming?” asked Sullivan as he gawked down at Schmidt. “Is this all true?” He looked back at Ingrid.
“It’s true, young man,” answered Schmidt. “Everything that Ingrid told you is the absolute truth. You indeed traveled forward in time and liberated me. For that, I shall always be grateful.”
“You’re welcome,” mumbled Sullivan. “I’m sorry, but I don’t remember our initial meeting.”
“Nothing to be sorry about,” countered Schmidt. “You incurred a concussion with that head laceration, so I’m sure a bit of amnesia came into play. After suturing up your head, I transported you back to the Philadelphia General Hospital for immediate care.”
“Thank you.”
“Please, take a seat,” said Schmidt as he pointed to a chair. “Stay for a while. We have lots to talk about.”
Before Sullivan could respond, Ingrid slid a chair across the room and placed it next to Schmidt’s head. She helped Sullivan sit down.
“I’ll make some tea,” said Ingrid as she left the room.
A cat jumped up onto Schmidt’s body and slowly curled up into a ball near his stomach.
“That’s Riley,” quipped Schmidt as he patted the cat. “She’s named after our nation’s 52nd president.” He elevated an eyebrow and grinned. “A most resolute and distinguished woman from our state of Pennsylvania… the city of Scranton to be exact.”
“It’s back around your neck,” said Sullivan with a pointed finger. “The skeleton key. I thought I lost it.”
